There weren’t many things that Hagar was certain of, but she was certain that her son was dying and that she couldn’t stand by and watch. So she hid. She was also certain that she had no where, no one, to turn to. She was an outcast. Rejected by her master, cast out by her son’s father. With no friends and no resources Hagar was in every sense of the word, alone.

Yet she wasn’t. And this wasn’t the first time she had hid in the desert. Nearly two decades earlier she found herself despised and rejected. Belly swollen with the same son who now waits to die, she ran away from all that she feared. And there in her fear, in the dessert, the angel of the Lord came to her. That day Hagar was comforted and she named the place where the Lord appeared to her Beer Lahai Roi, well of the Living One who sees me.

And now once again she finds herself in a desert place. Yet she had forgotten the promises spoken to her from the One who Sees. And in His rich mercy He again appears. For a second time the God who Sees sees Hagar. He sees and He provides water and life and hope.

The famine had finally made its way to her house. It was just the two of them, the widow and her son. The cupboards were bare save a handful of flour and a few drops of oil. Desperate with no one to turn to for help she does the only thing she knows to do.

She left the boy to go gather enough wood to cook their final meal and then watch her son slowly die of starvation. It is there that she meets the Prophet of God. Their meeting is not chance or coincidence, the God who Sees arranged it.

There she is presented with the opportunity to serve this Man of God, and she does. She fetches water for him. A momentary distraction from the reality of her situation, she willingly stops her work to give to the Prophet. And the God who Sees sees her. Sees her lack, sees her desperation, sees that with nothing to give she still gave. And the God who Sees sent provision, sent food, sent hope.

She was hot, and tired. Tired of drawing water at midday. Tired of the shame she wore. Tired of searching for love and never finding it. Once again she travels alone to the well to draw water for her family. But this day there was a man at the well. A man who wanted something from her. This she was used to, for there seemed to always be a man who wanted something from her. Today the man’s request was water. But there was something different about this man, he a Jew and her a Samaritan.

Over the course of their conversation she began to realize that this was no chance encounter with a random stranger. For this man didn’t really want water from her that day. No, He came to give her water. Living water. Water that leaves you satisfies and not empty.

This day she meets the God who Sees. And He sees more than her circumstances, He sees her heart. He sees past her physical need to the unspoken longing of her heart. He sees her pain, sees her loneliness, sees her need.  And the God who Sees offers her more than water for the body, He offers water for her soul, He offers hope.

I relate to all three of these women. For I too am a woman who often feels alone, a woman facing many needs, a woman with a longing heart. I often feel forgotten, unnoticed, overlooked. I worry about provision. I wonder about the future. I question the motives of my heart. And then I remember that the God who Sees sees me.

He sees me when I am strong and full of praise. He sees me when I am timid and afraid. He sees me when I cry in the night. He sees me when I feel alone and unloved. He sees me. Always. He sees and He knows and He provides. And because He sees I have hope.

“Let all the earth fear the Lord; let all the people of the world revere Him. For He spoke, and it came to be; He commanded, and it stood firm. The Lord foils the plans of the nations; He thwarts the purposes of the peoples. But the plans of the Lord stand firm forever, the purposes of His hear through all generations. Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord, the people He chose for His inheritance. From heaven the Lord looks down and sees all mankind; from His dwelling place He watches all who live on earth—He who forms the hearts of all, who considers everything they do. No king is saved by the size of his army; no warrior escapes by his great strength. A horse is a vain hope for deliverance; despite all its great strength it cannot save. But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear Him, on those whose hope is in His unfailing love, to deliver them from death and keep them alive in famine. We wait in hope for the Lord; He is our help and our shield. In Him our hearts rejoice, for we trust in his holy name. May your unfailing love rest upon us, O Lord, even as we put our hope in You.” Psalm 33:8-22

~Keri

Growing up my parents owned a nursery and landscaping company. Most of my early childhood memories involve dirt. I learned to plant and water when I was just barely big enough to hold a hose. As I got older I learned to lay sod, fertilize plants, graft and prune. I was never very good at the pruning. My mom and I worked together. She would give me a quick lesson on each variety of plant and how it should be pruned, then she’d hand me pruning shears and turn me loose. As I would make my way down the row she would follow right behind me re-pruning every plant I pruned. No matter how many branches I cut away it was never enough for her.

If a branch had a flower or bud on it I’d leave it. If a plant started to look too sparse I’d move on. But not mom. No, she whacked away with a vengeance.

Every year it was the same. I would cut too little and she would come behind and cut mercilessly. Every year I questioned her. Begged her not to completely strip the plants back so severely. Every year she would tell me “Just wait. You’ll see. Next spring this plant will be so much bigger and do much stronger”. I couldn’t fathom how her destruction would bring forth new life.

My pruning made sense to me. I cut off the dead and dying branches so the healthy branches could have room to grow. Mom’s pruning didn’t make sense at all. It was just too brutal.

John 15 says that Jesus is the vine and we are the branches and that every branch that doesn’t produce fruit will be cut off and thrown into the fire. It doesn’t say every dead or dying branch will be cut off but every branch that doesn’t produce much fruit. I learned through years of experience that a plant can have many branches that look strong and healthy but don’t produce fruit. A plant can also have many branches that produce little fruit that when pruned yield a great harvest.

Lately I feel like God has been pruning me. And He prunes much more like my mom than me. I’ve been questioning Him a lot lately about the branches He’s cutting off. It seems like He has no intention of stopping until there is nothing left.

And maybe that is His goal.

I am the vine. You are the branches.

If God removes every branch then the only thing that remains is Christ. And isn’t that the desire of my heart? For me to decrease and Christ to increase?

So why do we fight so hard to hold on to that which doesn’t produce fruit? To that which covers up Christ? To that which appears healthy but is actually barren?

Is it fear? Fear of being stripped bare?

Is it pride? A desire to be seen and admired?

Is it comfort? A longing to keep that which is familiar?

Or is it simply the belief that the master Gardner can’t be trusted to shape our hearts?

It’s easy to trust the Gardner in the growing season when He holds a watering can. But in the latent season when pruning shears fill His hands? It’s harder to trust then.

And that’s another thing about pruning. It takes place during the dormant season when branches are stripped bare of leaves. When weather conditions are harsh and plants aren’t growing. Why is it that pruning seems to take place when the plant is most vulnerable?

Ideally for most plants pruning takes place right before the growing season, leaving fresh wounds exposed for only a short amount of time before new life springs forth.

And it’s the same for us.

The season of pruning proceeds a season of rapid growth. The wounds will heal in short time as they are sealed by new life. And the sparseness of our hearts will be covered over with a fresh outpouring of the Spirit of God.

Then, and only then, will we produce fruit. Much fruit.

And you will be called Oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of His splendor. Isa. 61: 3

~Keri

It’s sunset outside my window and inside my heart. The sky to the east is dark, to the west it is fire. Night is wrapping itself upon the earth. The end of this day has come and now the long dark winter night settles in.

Just as this day is ending so is this chapter in my life. The chapter of marriage has come to an end for me. Night is closing in. And what light remains blazes in the night, burning the last remnants of what once was.

I tried so desperately to cling to the light. To stop the sun from setting on us. But I was as powerless to stop it as I am from stopping the earth from turning on its axis.

I know that tomorrow the sun will rise again. That light will flood my heart and warm my face. I know that this dark night will not last forever. That joy will come in the morning.

I also know that I am not alone here, in the darkest of nights. I know that there is One who stays with me, One who will never leave me or forsake me. The Light holds me in the darkness. Holds me close and I am not afraid.

I do not know how long this night will last. But I do know that there is purpose in the night. In Isaiah 45 God tells His anointed one:

“I will give you the treasures of darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the Lord, the God of Israel.” Isa. 45:3

He is speaking of buried treasure. Priceless gifts set aside and kept in dark secret places under close lock and key. Hidden riches that belonged to God’s chosen one. Not only riches of silver and gold but the riches of knowing the God of Israel.

I look into this dark night and I wonder… I wonder what tomorrow will look like. I wonder what adventure it holds. What challenge it brings. I wonder a lot about the day ahead. But here, now, in the night I’m mining for treasure. I’m digging up gold and silver, truth and joy. I’m discovering freedom and grace. I’m uncovering mercy and love.

Here in the darkness I am finding God.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death a light has dawned.” Isa. 9:2

Here in the darkness the light of Christ shines brighter and I have nothing to fear.

~Keri

~Keri

1. What was the best thing that happened in the last year?
2. What is the most challenging thing that happened?
3. What was an unexpected joy?
4. What was an unexpected obstacle?
5. Pick 3 words to describe the last year.
6. What were the best books you read?
7. With whom were your most valuable relationships?
8. What was your biggest personal challenge?
9. In what ways did you grow emotionally?
10. In what ways did you grow spiritually?
11. In what ways did you grow physically?
12. In what way did you grow in your relationships with others?
13. What was the most enjoyable part of your work professionally?
14. What was the most enjoyable part of your work at home?
15. What was the most challenging part of your work professionally?
16. What was the most challenging part of your work at home?
17. What was your single biggest time waster this past year?
18. What was the best way you used your time this past year?
19. What was the biggest thing you learned this past year?
20. Create a phrase or statement that describes this past year.

A few weeks ago I was listening to an interview of a woman who was living the American dream. She had it all. Good paying job, loving husband, adoring kids, nice house in a nice neighborhood with a white picket fence.

And she gave it all up.

Everything.

Quit the job. Sold the house. Packed up her family and moved to Africa to rescue kids who were being trafficked into sex slavery.

It’s an incredible story of faith and a radical following of Jesus. In the midst of Kimberly’s story she said something that has haunted me ever since.

“Satan comes to steal, kill and destroy and in

America he does it with a white picket fence.”

Over the weekend I finished reading a book by a girl in her early twenties who had the perfect life. Homecoming queen, wealthy family, adoring boyfriend, opportunity to attend the college of her choice, cute sports car. She too was living the American dream.

And she gave it all up.

Everything.

Passed on college. Broke up with the boyfriend. And bought a one way ticket to Uganda to become the mother of 13 abandoned girls and start a ministry where she now feeds and educates thousands of kids.

She came back to America for a few months and said she missed the poverty of Africa. Why? Because she realized that:

“in America we don’t need Jesus.”

Katie went on to say that in America if we are hungry we go to the pantry, or the local grocery store. We don’t ask God for daily bread. If we are sick we go to the doctor. We don’t ask God for healing. If we need comfort we call, text, or Facebook any of a dozen friends. We don’t beg God for His presence.

Katie said that in America she missed Jesus. Because in America she didn’t need Jesus. She could live life on her own.

These two women’s stories won’t let go of me. I confess; I’ve been tempted to pack it all up and join them in Africa. But I don’t think that’s the point God is trying to make to me. I think what I’m realizing is that somewhere along the journey I’ve bought into the lie that the American dream is God’s dream. That safety and comfort and security is the goal. When in actuality that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“The civilized view of Jesus is that He always comes through for us.

Like Superman, He always shows up just in time to protect us and save us from disaster.

His purpose is to ensure our safety, our convenience, and our comfort….

but God would never choose for us safety at the cost of significance.”

Erwin McManus

The thing about Kimberly and Katie’s lives that so captivates me isn’t their comfort. It’s the danger. It’s the front line, perilous adventure of following and trusting Jesus. These women are living lives of significance. They are boldly marching into the darkness and letting their light shine.

I spend my days frantically trying to build a sanctuary to put my light in so that nothing can blow it out. I spend my days guarding my light. They spend their days shining theirs.

I spend my days begging God to let hardship and trials pass me by. They spend their days thanking God for walking with them through every hardship and trial.

And I am jealous.

I want to see God like they see God. In every minute of every day. As their source and faithful supply.

It’s hard. Here, in the first world, where even in our difficult seasons we are still so blessed. It’s hard to need Jesus here. It’s hard to realize our total depravity when we are surrounded by abundance. It is hard to realize our absolute need for mercy (help for the afflicted and wretched) when we are surrounded by grace (good will, loving-kindness, favour).

I’ve so bought into the American dream that I feel punished when hardships or trials enter my life. I feel deserving of blessing. And therefore I despise seasons of lack. When things go wrong my first inclination is that God is punishing me, not that He is blessing me. My first thought is not that God chose this for me so that I would draw closer to Him.

I want to learn the secret.

The secret that Kimberly and Katie and Paul learned.

“I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation,

whether well fed or hungry,

whether living in plenty or in want.

I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”

Phil. 4:12-13

I want to learn the secret of contentment. I want to learn the secret of living in God’s strength, not my own.

I have learned to be content with the American dream, behind my white picket fence, surrounded by comfort and health and security. But I want more. I want contentment when all else fades.

When nothing is left but Jesus… Can I find contentment there?

~Keri

When I was a little girl I was terrified of storms. When I say terrified I don’t mean that I felt a little uneasy when I heard the distant roll of thunder. What I mean when I say that I was terrified is that I was TERR-I-FIED! And growing up in tornado alley didn’t help matters much. Needless to say from early spring to the onset of fall I was a nervous wreck. (maybe that’s why fall is my favorite season)

One spring my daddy decided it was finally time for me to overcome my fear. That spring and summer we spent many afternoons and evenings sitting on our porch watching storms roll in. I hated it. I felt so exposed, so vulnerable. I have to confess, I was really mad at my dad for weeks.

Every time a storm would start brewing he would come find me and drag me outside and sit me in his lap. I would shake and cry and beg to go back inside, but he never let me. He would simply hold me and talk to me about the storm.

Slowly my tears dried up and I moved from his lap to the chair beside him. When a loud clap of thunder would take me by surprise I would look to my dad. He always had the same expression of confidence on his face, he never looked afraid.

I started learning about storms. About lightning and thunder and how they are tied together. About the subtle colors of the sky and what they meant (green means run y’all, in case you were wondering).  About the formation of clouds and what they would produce.

Never once do I remember sitting in front of the T.V. listening to the weather man talk about the many colors splashed across his maps. No, we sat under an expanse of open sky and watched the storms form in real time.

Dad taught me that storms are predictably unpredictable. That God can do what He wants, when He wants with the weather. That we need to be alert, but not afraid.

I remember two incidences specifically. The first was in early spring, a storm rolled in very quickly. It took me by surprise. Dad and I ran out in the backyard to see what the sky was up to when suddenly the clouds began to rotate. It was my biggest fear. I started running for the storm cellar when dad told me to stop and come back to him. Fearfully, I obeyed.  He told me the funnel cloud wouldn’t touch down and that it wouldn’t come near our home. He was right. We stood there for about 15 minutes and watched that funnel cloud hover above the tree line to the west of us. It was amazing.

Later that month I was doing my homework when dad came in, calm but firm he said, “It’s time to go to the storm shelter.” My heart raced as we gathered flashlights (and my teddy bear) and went outside to the shelter. I hated the storm shelter, it was dark, and smelled weird and was home to lots of spiders. But as we left the house and began making our way across the yard I looked to the sky, it was green and low and still. Eerily still. I knew then that spiders were the least of my concern.

The storm raged that evening. But we were safe, sheltered from the storm. My dad’s booming voice filled the shelter as we talked about the powerful winds and rain. And there, with the storm bearing down on us, I wasn’t afraid. My dad had protected me once again from the terror of the storm.

This morning I was talking to God about the storms that are raging in my heart and He reminded me of that summer with my dad learning about the predictably unpredictable nature of storms, and the loving protection that a good daddy brings to a frightened little girl.

Life is a lot like spring in Arkansas. It’s pretty much a guarantee that storms will come. And a lot of time I find myself reacting to life much like I used to react to storms before I learned that while storms can’t always be trusted, my dad can.

In this season in my life I’m learning that lesson all over again. That my Father God can be trusted. Even in the worst of storms. That I need to be alert, but not afraid. And isn’t that the point after all? Not to survive the storm, but to learn that our Father can be trusted in the storm.

I love storms now. Nothing is as exciting as a good summer lightning show. I love watching the clouds build and swirl. I love watching the skies change color, the wind whip through the trees, the sound of rain falling. Love it!

And I’m learning to love watching life unfold. Even the stormy parts.

Because He is with me.

And that makes it all OK.

~Keri

“Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you will not be burned; the flames will not set you ablaze. For I am the LORD, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior” Isa 43:1-3

It commemorates the hardships endured by the American Indians forced to migrate across northern Arkansas to present day Oklahoma.

The sculpture suggests human figures traversing the stream, a metaphoric evocation of American Indians on the Trail of Tears.

While addressing historical events and human tragedy, the artists’ stone figures, flanking the gently flowing stream, can also be viewed as witness to endurance and survival.

As I stood beside the stream in the midst of these standing stones I couldn’t help but think about other stones of remembrance. Of when Samuel and the children of Israel gathered together to bring a sacrifice of repentance to God when suddenly they found themselves surrounded by the Philistine army. The people were terrified and begged Samuel “Do not stop crying out to the Lord our God for us, that He may rescue us.” And God was faithful. Without the Israelites having to raise a hand God confused the Philistines and defeated them.

“Then Samuel took a stone and set it up between Mizpah and Shen. He named it Ebenezer, saying, ‘Thus far has the Lord helped us.’” 1 Sam. 7:12

A stone of remembrance in a place where they cried.

I was thrown a curveball recently. One of those unexpected moments that leaves you reeling, wondering what to do and where to go from here. So, I did what every good Christian should do. Called a few friends to ask for advice as a drove to my local Christian book store where I proceeded to ask the person working to load me up with books on the topic of my current crisis. I downloaded podcasts, scoured the internet for articles, and read numerous blogs from people who had experienced the same crisis.

I was desperate to have all of my questions answered.

This week I was reading in Mark chapter 4. It’s a familiar passage to me where Jesus begins teaching the people in parables. It said that whenever He taught He used parables “But when He was alone with His disciples, He explained everything”. (Mark 4:34)

I’ve often wondered about this. Why not explain everything to the crowds? Why only the disciples? Is it because He desires intimacy more than information? Because He cares more about our hearts than our minds?

The Pharisees and the crowds often questioned Jesus, but He very rarely answered them. Instead He questioned them in return, or spoke in a parable, or changed the subject entirely.  Mathew 13:15 says it’s because their hearts were calloused. They didn’t really want to hear what Jesus had to say. Some wanted signs or wonders. Some were looking to trap or trick Jesus. Some were looking to justify their own decisions. But then there was another group; a group of men who had left their nets and walked away from their boats. Men who left family, and jobs and security to follow Jesus. Men who walked dusty roads with Him, ate every meal with Him, and slept on the hard ground beside Him. These men had many questions for Jesus as well. But their questions were answered. Plainly, directly. Every question that a disciple asked Jesus He answered.

Many people wanted to be around Jesus. “The crowds” they are referred to. They liked the excitement, the spectacle, and the miracles that surrounded Jesus. But only a few followed Him, only a few were changed by being around Him. And aren’t we the same way? We love church. We get all excited about a Beth Moore conference or a Chris Tomlin concert. We love reading and discussing the new book or podcast. We like gathering in coffee shops and talking about the goodness of God.

But we don’t want to get in the boat with Jesus.

We don’t want to follow Him into the lonely places and sit beside the fire with Him. We don’t want to chase and pursue and hold on, forsaking comfort and approval and security to be among those whose questions are answered.

We’d rather be with the crowd than with the Savior.

And yet, Jesus calls us to come away with Him. Invites us into His very presence to sit as His feet and listen to the words of life. Calls to us still, even after we’ve gone looking for answers elsewhere. Even when we’ve love the world more than His word. Even when we’ve ignored Him. Still He calls.

“But when He was alone with His disciples, He explained everything to them.” Mark 4:34

Everything.

He waits to answer our questions. He waits to give us direction. He waits to explain everything to His disciples.

I don’t want to be “the crowd”. I want to be His disciple. I want to come away, and sit and listen. I want to be like Peter, that even when things get hard, I choose Jesus. He is all the answer I will ever need.

“From this time many of His disciples turned back and no longer followed Him. ‘You do not want to leave too, do you?’ Jesus asked the Twelve. Simon Peter answered Him, ‘Lord, to whom shall we go? You alone have the words of eternal life.” John 6:66-68

~Keri

Choice: a decision to choose one thing, person, or course of action in preference to others

Consequence: something that follows as a result

Regret: to feel sorry and sad about something previously done or said that now appears wrong, mistaken, or hurtful to others.

Do-over: a chance to redo an action

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about Eve. About the choice she made to believe the lie of the enemy and doubt the goodness of God. About how one simple choice ushered in such overwhelming consequences. About the regret she must have felt the moment her lips tasted the bitter-sweet fruit of her decision and her eyes were opened to the truth of her choice.

I’ve been thinking about the endless consequences that followed that one bite. Instant shame and fear. Broken trust and blame from her husband. Forcibly removed from the only home she’d ever known. Giving birth through tears and much pain. Receiving news that her youngest son had been murdered. Receiving news that her oldest son was a murderer. Being blamed for every heartache, every sickness, every disaster in the history of all mankind.

I wonder how many times tears flowed down the face of the first woman? I wonder how many times she whispered “if only”. I wonder how many times she begged God for a second chance, for a do-over.

I wonder if her heart was filled with regret as she stood at the grave of her son.

I wonder if her heart was filled with guilt every day when Adam came home sweaty and calloused.

I wonder if her heart was filled with shame every month when blood flowed from her body.

I wonder if her heart was filled with remorse every time she remembered walking side by side with God.

Like Eve, I know what it’s like to be deceived, to listen to the lie and doubt the goodness of God. I know what it’s like to face consequences that you never expected. I know how regret and guilt and shame feels. Many times I’ve quietly whispered “God, can I have a do-over?”

Can I have another chance?

Can I go back and choose differently this time?

Can I undo what I have done?

And just like Eve, He answers me with a soft but firm “No.”

No we can’t have a do-over. We can’t go back in time and erase the foolish choices. We must live with the consequences of our sin.

But that doesn’t mean we live without hope. For where God says “no” to do-overs He says “yes” to redemption.

Redemption: the act of saving something or somebody from a declined, dilapidated, or corrupted state and restoring it, him, or her to a better condition

Through Eve sin entered the world. And through Christ redemption entered the world. The seed of a woman defeated sin and death once and for all. And now, because of redemption, because of the choice Jesus made to offer Himself up as payment for our foolish choices we get something better than a do-over, we get new life. We get beauty for ashes.

God doesn’t want us to live with regret. He doesn’t want us to carry guilt and shame. He doesn’t want us to live constantly aching for a do-over. He wants to redeem. He wants to restore. He wants to heal our broken hearts, and bring glory to His name.

Redemption comes at a great price. A price that has already been paid. Redemption cost Jesus His very life, which He freely gave for the joy of seeing us set free, not just free from sin, but from regret as well.

I don’t know what regret you carry. Maybe it’s harsh words spoken, an abortion, a failed marriage, or sexual sin. Maybe it’s not standing up to an abuser, years of addiction, or not doing something you should have. Maybe it’s an empty womb, an arrogant heart, or a missed opportunity. Whatever it is, can I assure you that God can redeem it. Redemption may not look like you think it should. It may not include restoring what was lost. It probably won’t erase the consequences of your choice. But it will be beautiful. You will be beautiful.

Because God makes beautiful things out of the ugly ashes of our lives.

~Keri